Ashwell

In the heart of a dense, mist-laden valley lies Ashwell, a town swallowed by shadows and secrets. Once quaint and bustling with life, it now holds only fear. One by one, the townsfolk vanish, leaving behind only whispers and eerie fragments of their presence-smudged handprints on bakery windows, forgotten tools scattered in empty garages, pages left open to cryptic phrases in a dusty library. The fog rolls in thicker each day, curling around empty homes, growing dense with malice. At night, muffled knocks echo through empty streets, footsteps shadow every resident, and faint whispers drift from the forest, as if ancient voices are calling them forward.

The people of Ashwell are trapped, the woods surrounding them an impenetrable maze, thick with an unseen force that seems to know their every fear. Desperation drives them into the dark heart of the forest, where an ancient stone altar waits, steeped in old curses and bound by broken pacts. Here, shadows take shape, faces familiar yet twisted, and voices they once knew now mock and lure them deeper. Each resident knows they're on borrowed time, that Ashwell itself has become something monstrous, something patient and ravenous, waiting to devour them all.

Ashwell is no longer just a town. It is a living, breathing nightmare, its silence filled with the echoes of those it has claimed. And as the fog tightens its grip, the darkness whispers that Ashwell will never let them go.